New Dawn: Dragon Age Inquisition
by deathking00
Summary: after the Inquisitions disbandment at the Exulted counsel the Elven Inquisitor travels to Tevinter to gather new allies and rebuild as the world is on the brink of the abyss as the threat of Fen'Harel's power looms over the inquisitors mind will he be able to fight his friend or figure a way to show his friend the error of his ways but in the end all that is certain it ends here
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: i dont own anything by the creators of dragon age But i hope you enjoy my story or my take on what should happen after Inquisition**

 **I like to thank my Co-Author/Beta Reader** **antiviancrows www . fanfiction u/7105610/ please visit her page and check her work its great**

Chapter One:

The Inquisition's ships pull up alongside Tevinter's shores. Cullen worries about the possibility of assassins jumping upon them. Mahanon, the elven Inquisitor, stood beside the Commander, trying to sooth his worries. "Dorian has assured us that we will be honored guests of House Pavus. He's given us the best protection available," he murmured. The honey-coated words did little to soothe his worries, and Cullen had little faith in Tevinter hospitality and so ordered the Inquisition's personal guards to remain alert and cautious. "Relax, Cullen," Mahanon said, a smile curving his lips upwards, "we've almost docked. You should take a few breaths now, while you can. Or should I make that an order for you to obey?"

Cullen rolled his eyes at the Inquisitor's teasing tone. "One of us has to take this seriously. Even if it's not Tevinter agents, it could very well be the Qunari, or even Solas's agents trying to get in our way," he looked away, his face saddening at the mention of Solas. "I…I am sorry. I…didn't mean-" he began, but Mahanon cut him off. "No, Cullen, it's okay. I understand, and I'll try to take this seriously. He's our enemy, and this mission is our best chance to stop him," he said. Cullen nods his agreement, but the gesture feels hollow. In truth, the Commander felt guilty for bringing up Solas. The last few months had been trying for the Inquisitor, and Cullen could tell that he still ached over Solas's betrayal and the loss of his arm. And though Dagna was working furiously with the shapers from Orzammar to make a new, lyrium-infused metal arm for Mahanon, Cullen could tell that the Inquisitor felt the loss deeply.

He reached out and rested his hand on Mahanon's shoulder. "It'll be all right, of course. You've led us through hell before, and always managed to bring us back out," Cullen assured. The Inquisitor rolls his eyes, letting out a chuckle. "Kinda wish we didn't have to through hell for me to pull us out of it. Although, it's a good thing I'm leading instead of you. You'd have lost the Inquisition in a game of Wicked Grace, along with your trousers." He was clearly joking, but Cullen wasn't amused. He was still sore about losing. "That's hardly fair! I lost one game to Josephine, and you all won't let me live it down!" he protested. "Oh? And what about the fourteen after that?" Cullen rolled his eyes again. "We…are about to dock, so I'll see you on deck, Inquisitor," he said. "All right, Cullen, see you there," the Inquisitor answers. Cullen bows before turning and walking away.

The Inquisitor shakes his head and turns back to the maps. He wonders how he should thank Varric for getting into contact with Isabela yet again. It was nearly impossible to find any captain crazy enough to willingly sail into the Imperium, especially with the growing concern of Qunari attacks. Mahanon shook his head once more, as if to clear it, and grabbed his cloak. He fumbles with it, and he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden voice he hears. "Do you need help, my love?" Cassandra asks, leaning against the doorframe. "As long as you're offering," he answers. Cassandra smirks, walking over and gently arranging his cloak for him. "There, that's much better," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Mmm, I guess I should count myself lucky. You're no longer the Divine's right hand, so I suppose that means you're my left hand," he murmurs, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into a sweet kiss. She smiles against his lips, pulling away to rest her forehead against his. "Yes, well Vivienne isn't someone I want to take orders from. Besides, you'd be lost without me. You said so yourself," she breathes. "Yes, I suppose I did," Mahanon replies. Cassandra smirks. "Then you better not treat me like I'm your nanny or something," she says. The Inquisitor laughs. "Of course not! That's what Cullen is for," he retorts, and Cassandra laughs along with him. Cullen had been rather overprotective of the Inquisitor. He had his reasons, and they were good ones at that, but it still amused Mahanon.

"Better not let the commander hear that, he would not let it stand." Cass says, shaking her head. "Oh, I bet Cullen has some sense of humor. I think." The Inquisitor shrugs. "Either way, we should get to the deck. The ship has docked, and I doubt Dorian will be pleased that we've let him wait," she says, stepping out Mahanon's embrace. "You're right, again," he says, twining his fingers with hers and leading the way to the deck. Cassandra basks in the contact, intent on enjoying every moment with her Inquisitor. Each day could be their last, and it was a sobering thought.

As they stepped onto the deck, various friends greeted them. Scout Harding and Leliana stood off to the side, deep in conversation. Mahanon assumed he'd be informed of what they were discussing soon enough. Cullen, of course, was on the deck instructing what few forces they'd brought with them, along with Cassandra's newest recruits. Seekers Albert and Meghan were both young and eager individuals who had yet to go through the ritual. Mahanon bit back a sigh as he glanced over the forces left after fighting Corypheus and the Breach for so long.

"Well, aren't you two adorable. You're so sweet it makes my teeth ache," drawled Isabela, jumping gracefully from the crow's nest. She reaches up, adjusting the large red hat she wears. "I'd hate to disappoint, Captain," Mahanon answers. "That's Admiral, actually. I only partially wear this hat for the looks," she corrects, chuckling at Cassandra's expression. "Can pirates even have the rank of admiral? You're not a formal military," she asks, raising her brow. "Oh, my dear, it doesn't matter. This is my ship, so I make the rules. That's one of the perks that comes along with being in charge, isn't it, my dear Inquisitor?" she asks, winking at the elf. "Well, honestly, you can make up any rules you like, but unless your crew agrees to them, they're just empty words," Cassandra pointed out. Isabela shrugged. "True enough, but last time I checked, no one was arguing with my rules. Unless you want to change that," she answers, smirking. Cassandra was about to deliver a sharp retort when Mahanon stepped in. "Of course we don't. We are quite grateful, Cap…Admiral Isabela, for your assistance," he said. Cassandra glanced at him, then sighed heavily and nodded her agreement.

"No thanks needed. I'm always happy to help a friend of Varric's. The money he sent my way didn't hurt, either," she said, chuckling. She glanced around, then looked back to Mahanon. "Now, my men and I will stay docked for as long as you need us. If you do have need of us, you'll most likely find us in a tavern. Probably wasted, I'm afraid. Now, goodbye, Inquisitor," she said, and nodding to Cassandra, and then walking away. The pirates let out a cheer before following the Admiral, and once they're gone, Leliana approached with Harding and Cullen in tow.

"What's the plan, Leliana?" Mahanon asks. "From what I gather, there has been no signs of Fen'Harel's agents, but there continue to be large amounts of elven disappearances, even here, in the Imperium," the bard answers. "Ha, I bet the magisters don't like their servants vanishing from thin air," Cullen says. "No, they aren't. Most of the world still dismisses Fen'Harel as a myth, and contribute the disappearances to the Qunari," Leliana continues, pulling out a letter she had received from one of her ravens, "yet it appears the same thing is happening to those under the Qun." Mahanon takes the letter and glances over it.

"The forces they are growing will soon be larger than any army in Thedas, too," Cullen adds. Mahanon nods to himself, a thousand possible tactical decisions running through his head. "Then we better get started. Leliana, I want you and Scout Harding to gather any information you can about potential allies in the Tevinter Imperium," he says. Leliana nods sharply. "As a bard, I have a few contacts I can look up and see if they're still active within the city," she says. "And I can scout the city firsthand for information," Harding adds. Mahanon nods his approval. "Cullen, Cassandra, you're with me. We'll head towards the Pavus estate and see to our accommodations. We can also see if Dorian can offer any more potential allies or intel about our enemies." The two nod.

"Gathering forces and allies to combat an ancient elven magic that threatens to destroy the world, while everyone in it wants us dead or refuses to help…Maker, it sounds just like the old days. I never thought I'd miss it...and wait, no, still don't," Harding said, a smile ghosting across her face. "Well, Harding, maybe after this is over and we're well into our retirement you'll miss it," Mahanon says, chuckling. "I hope not. And if I do, it means I'm not nearly drunk enough," she replies. Everyone gets a good laugh out of that one.

"Let's get started, Cullen," the Inquisitor says. Commander Cullen nods sharply, and turns to face their soldiers. "Men, move out!" he orders. The soldiers salute, and lead the way off of the ship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: i dont own anything by the creators of dragon age But i hope you enjoy my story or my take on what should happen after Inquisition**

 **I like to thank my Co-Author/Beta Reader** **antiviancrows www . fanfiction u/7105610/ please visit her page and check her work its great**

Chapter Two:

The Inquisition walked through the streets of Minrathas, Tevinter's capital city. Cullen almost expected the streets to be running red with blood, but they were normal stone streets, if a bit worn from constant use. _Not all stories about the Imperium are true. Well, hopefully not, anyways,_ Mahanon thought, glancing at the glittering spires of the city. Cassandra was at his side, her fingers twined with his, and Cullen was in front of them. They were surrounded by a small band of guards as they marched through the capital, towards the Pavus estate. Leliana and Scout Harding had already disappeared into the city. Harding's natural ability to go unnoticed would help her gather information, while Leliana's silver tongue gave her the ability to get out of nearly any situation with more information that she'd entered it with. Mahanon was glad he didn't have to worry about them, and even moreso when a contingent of heavily armed and armored guards approached. Cullen drops back to stand at Mahanon's other side.

"Inquisitor, this doesn't look good," the blonde man murmurs, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword nervously. Mahanon reached out and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Easy, now, Cullen. Best not make any sudden moves. We should see what they have to say before blindly attacking," he murmurs. Cullen reluctantly nods his agreement, releasing his hold on his sword just as the guards approach. "State your business," the leader of the group orders, his voice slightly muffled by the heavy steel of his helmet. "We are honored quests of Magister Dorian Pavus. We were told that we would be expected," Mahanon answers, stepping forward. "Ah, yes, you must be the Inquisition, then. You were indeed expected, but don't get your hopes up. Minrathas is a hostile city, especially to you," he answers. Mahanon shifts his weight from one foot to another. "Was that a threat?" he asks, his eyes narrowed.

The guard shakes his head. "No, it was a warning," he replies, stepping forward and holding his hand out to shake. Mahanon takes it warily, giving it a firm shake before releasing him. "I am lieutenant Rolcus of the Imperial guard, and I am here to warn you that members of the Venatori cult still lurk in the city. We were unable to prove that all of them were linked directly with the cult, and after what you've done, Inquisitor, well, they'll see your presence in the city as a threat. My advice is to keep your stay in the city short and leave as soon as your business here is concluded, and always watch your back. These cultists are slippery bastards," Rolcus said, bowing slightly. "Duly noted. Thank you, Lieutenant. We will not stay longer than we have to," Mahanon says, his hand returning to his side. "Goodbye, Inquisitor," Rolcus said, nodding respectfully once more before turning and leading the rest of his guards away.

"Men, move out," Mahanon orders, and the group continues their way to Dorian's estate. "That was…pleasant. I sure hope Leliana can find more information about these Venatori," Cullen comments as they move into the city's more crowded market district. "Agreed. It's more reason to keep our guard up. Although, right now we should focus on getting to the Pavus estate and finding out what Dorian knows," the Inquisitor replies. Cullen and Cassandra both nod their agreement, and so the small party picks up speed.

They could see the Manor of Pavus long before they came to it. It was a structure that could rival Skyhold in its magnificence, with large towers and gleaming windows. Mahanon nearly stopped in amazement as he craned his head back to look up at it. "Just how rich is Dorian?" Cullen asks, sparing a quick glance at the Inquisitor. Cassandra seemed less impressed by the mansion, instead leading Mahanon as he gawked. "I have no idea, but with a quick guess, I can say he's much more wealthy than what we'd initially thought," the elf murmurs. Several guards greeted them pleasantly and led them inside the main building complex. The walls and floors were made out of marble, accented tastefully with gold and red silk tapestries and carpets. Mahanon was reminded of the Winter Palace when heavy footsteps and a chuckle echoed through the hall.

"By the looks on your faces, I'd say you like my home. Although, as it turns out, this is actually my father's home. I've spent so much time in the South with you all that I'd prefer something a tad more modest. I'm sure we all know by now how we have to deal with the cards we're dealt," Dorian says, by way of greeting. Mahanon is still staring around the lavish entry hall, and only as Dorian reaches the bottom of the steps does he turn his attention to his friend. Dorian is smiling brilliantly, and the Inquisitor realizes just how much he'd missed his friend in the year they'd been apart. "It's been too long," Dorian announced. "Indeed, it has been," Mahanon responded as the magister pulled him into a hug. The two were grinning when they pulled apart.

"How's life in Tevinter treating you?" Mahanon asked. "Well, there haven't been any more assassination attempts since our last chat, so I suppose that means it's going rather well," Dorian answered, earning a chuckle from the Inquisitor, Cullen, and even Cassandra, the last of whom was smiling at the reunion. "Oh, and Seeker, don't think I've forgotten about you. Come on, I don't bite," Dorian said, opening his arms to her. "Oh, no, Dorian, that's quite all right. A hug isn't necessary," Cassandra began when the mage interrupted her. "Nonsense! Come and give your old friend a hug, before I make up my mind to use that dreaded blood magic on you," he teased. She smirked, rolling her eyes, but allowing the magister to hug her briefly.

"It is nice to see you again," Cassandra admitted, a small smile on her face. "And you, Seeker. I must say, I'm glad you haven't lost that welcoming charm of yours. It wouldn't be the same without it," Dorian responded, a smirk on his lips. Cassandra snorted, stepping aside.

Dorian spends the better part of an hour greeting everyone properly. He leads them into a formal sitting room to continue the greetings, and afterwards, he turns to Mahanon. "Oh, come now, don't tell me this is everyone. If it is, I'll be very disappointed," Dorian announces, a question in his tone all the same. The Inquisitor laughs, shaking his head. "No, no, Leliana and Scout Harding are in the city as well. They're just…taking their time," he answers. Dorian nods in understanding, his eyes glinting. "It figures. Those two are thick as thieves. No matter, when they do finally arrive, I'll just torment them with my hugs of doom as well," the magister joked, lighting the fire with a flick of his finger.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: i dont own anything by the creators of dragon age But i hope you enjoy my story or my take on what should happen after Inquisition**

 **I like to thank my Co-Author/Beta Reader** **antiviancrows www . fanfiction u/7105610/ please visit her page and check her work its great**

 **Chapter Three:**

Dorian spent another few hours catching up with the three of them before standing and moving behind the bar. He poured a brandy for himself, and then glanced up at the others. "Would anyone else like anything? Cullen, what about you?" he asked. "I'd like a scotch, please," Cullen asks, leaning back in one of the armchairs. This was the most relaxed he'd been in a very long time. Dorian chuckled to himself. "I never would have pegged you for a scotch drinker," he muttered sarcastically, pouring the drink. "What about you, Seeker?" Dorian asks. "I…would like a water," Cassandra says. "Are you sure? I have a great collection of-" Cassandra cuts the magister off. "I'm sure. I want a glass of water," she says, more firmly. Dorian nods. "And you, Inquisitor?" he asks, glancing at the elven man. "I would like a brandy, myself," Mahanon answers. Dorian nods happily, spending the next few moments pouring everyone's drinks and then distributing them. Mahanon and Cassandra had taken one of the sofas, Cassandra reclining against Mahanon more than the sofa itself. Dorian took the armchair opposite Cullen's, making a cozy circle for them to chat amongst themselves in.

"I think you'll like this. It's imported from Orlais," Dorian says, settling back into his chair, "and yes, Cassandra, even the water was imported." A smirk settles across his face, and Cass can't help but to laugh. "So, down to business. How can I help you in your newest crusade, Inquisitor?" Dorian asks, propping his chin up on his hand. Mahanon takes a sip of his brandy. "Well, we wanted to know if there was anyone in the Imperium that we could seek aid from. I'm sure, after spending so much time here, that you could recommend someone," the elf answers. Dorian frowns. "Well, this won't be an easy task, I'm afraid. Most of the people that can provide assistance won't, and the ones who will aren't the sort you'd want to deal with," he answers. Mahanon sighs heavily, running his fingers through his hair. "I suppose it's a dead end, then," he remarked bitterly.

"Not necessarily. We could increase your standing in Tevinter, like you did in Ferelden and Orlais, and…hmm, yes, maybe," Dorian said, standing up and beginning to pace. As he paced, he talked to himself, working things out in his head. "Luckily, you're a mage. Your elven-ness might make this a little more difficult, but we can work around that," he murmurs. The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow. "What are you on about?" he asks, finally, cutting off Dorian's train of thought. "Sorry, I didn't mean to ramble. I was only thinking about how you're a mage, which will make it easier for you to gain political power," he explained. "But I'm not from Tevinter," Mahanon protested, confused. Dorian smirked. "No, you're not. But if, say, you worked in indentured servitude for a magister for a few years, you would be considered a full Tevinter citizen." Cullen and Cassandra were both slightly shocked by this revelation, while the Inquisitor shook his head.

"We don't have a few years, let alone the fact that I would be a terrible servant," he moaned, fisting his hand in his hair. "Ah, see, but we don't need the time. There's a loophole," Dorian exclaimed, throwing his hands up with the brilliance of it. "All right, you've lost me," Mahanon announced. Cassandra silently agreed. "Look, all we have to do is some paperwork, sign a few documents, and make it out to be that you were my servant since the Breach opened. It's already been a few years, and they may overlook a few minor details and sign you on as a full Tevinter citizen, since you've already fulfilled the terms of the contract we'll draw up."

Mahanon was, to say the least, surprised. "So, we lie, and say I was your servant, and that you've freed me?" he asks thoughtfully. Dorian nodded, delighted. "Clever, no? It's actually similar to what the mages at Redcliffe tried to do," he answered, chuckling. Cullen, however, wasn't as pleased with the development. "You mean to tell me that you want to make him a full citizen of Tevinter? I can see Ferelden and Orlais taking that news well!" he said, rubbing his face. "They'll likely see him…and the rest of us, as enemies of the South. King Alistair won't come to our defense, and neither will Emperor Gaspard, much less the Divine!" Cassandra pointed out, knowing that if they continued to associate with the Inquisitor after this, they would see the same fate as he would.

"Yes, I suppose that going on this mission in the first place with me marked you all. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to share that burden with me," Mahanon sighs, laying his hand gently on Cassandra's arm. "Nonsense! We would never abandon you, especially after all you've done and all we've gone through together. None of us will turn our backs on you, even if the rest of the world turns their backs on us," Cullen proclaimed proudly, as Dorian and Cassandra nod their agreement. "Thank you, Cullen," the Inquisitor says, touched. He smiles as he turns to Dorian. "All right, then, I suppose that's settled. It's time to make me a Tevinterain," he says. Dorian laughs. "Excellent. I'll have the papers drawn up, and all you'll have to do is sign your name," he promises.

They stayed and chatted for a few more moments, but Dorian could see how tired the three were. He stood once more, clearing his throat. "I know you've all had a long journey, so I'll show you to your rooms now, and we can continue this discussion in the morning," he promised. Mahanon felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over him, and judging by Cassandra's drooping eyelids and Cullen's continuous yawns, he wasn't the only one.

Dorian led the group of them through a maze of hallways, stopping at one of the more modest guest rooms and ushering Cullen inside. He continued, with Mahanon and Cassandra, to the room at the end of the hallway. "This used to be my room. I do hope you find it to your liking. There's quite the book collection just in here, if you find you need something to occupy your time," Dorian says, ushering them inside. The two take a moment to look around the room. It's still lavish like the rest of the house, but it's much more modest. One wall was lined with bookshelves, and opposite the bedroom door, another door opened onto a balcony that overlooked the city. And at the center of the room was a queen-sized bed, plush and overwhelmingly inviting. "This will be fine indeed. Thank you, Dorian," the Inquisitor says, and Dorian smirks. "Good to hear. Oh, and don't worry, the bed is brand new. The two of you can…break it in, without having to worry about what the previous occupants got up to in it," he says, only partially joking. He laughs, as Cassandra's face instantly turns red with embarrassment and anger at the implications. She charges the magister, chasing him out of the bedroom, and the Inquisitor laughs at the sight. She chases him into the hallway, where she promptly slams the door shut behind him and turns the lock.

"You know he's only joking," Mahanon said, slipping his arm around Cassandra's waist. "I don't care if he was joking! He has no right to make such claims and…and assumptions about us," she stutters, still flushed with embarrassment. Mahanon chuckles. "He can assume all he likes. It doesn't matter what he or anyone else thinks, does it?" he asks, leaning closer to her. He looks at her for a couple of heartbeats before pressing his lips to hers. Even though they've been together for a few years now, Cassandra's toes curl and she goes weak, melting against him. Mahanon is the one who breaks the kiss, pulling back to take a breath of air. "No, it doesn't. You're the only one whose opinion matters to me," Cassandra murmured, staring into his eyes. She could get lost in them. "And yours to me," he whispers, his hand cupping her cheek. She leans into his touch, her forehead resting against his. Here, in this room, the rest of the world disappeared until it was just him and her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: i dont own anything by the creators of dragon age But i hope you enjoy my story or my take on what should happen after Inquisition**

 **I like to thank my Co-Author/Beta Reader** **antiviancrows www . fanfiction u/7105610/ please visit her page and check her work its great**

 **Chapter Four:**

Cassandra leaned up to press her lips against Mahanon's once more. She had no clue how long they'd stood there, lost in each other's gaze, but she was basking in his closeness. He nipped her bottom lip playfully, his arm wrapped around her back. Cassandra smirked, her hands trailing down to the buttons on his shirt. "Remember how, when we first met, we had you in chains?" she asks, unfastening the buttons one by one. "Are you getting ideas from those books you read, Cassandra?" Mahanon teased, smirking infuriatingly. Cassandra huffed, shaking her head fondly. "I was only thinking about how far we've come," she replies, stepping back and pulling her gloves off. As she tosses them unceremoniously away, the golden wedding ring on her finger glints in the light. She glances to the ring, then back at Mahanon.

"You have done the impossible so many times," she breathes, pushing his shirt off his shoulders, "you've closed the Breach. You've fought armies of demons. You've saved an empire from chaos. And, you made me love you, more than I already did." The Inquisitor smiles softly, brushing his lips across her knuckles. He twines his fingers with hers. "The only reason I can do those impossible things is because I have you," he breathes, and Cassandra grins. "You are too modest, sometimes," she says, laying her hand over his heart, letting it linger as his muscles trembled against her hand. She bites her bottom lip, staring at him longingly, before her hands move to her own armor, unfastening the clasps on her chest plate and letting it fall to the floor with a soft clang.

The Inquisitor leaned back against the bedpost and watched with a smirk on his face as her hands moved to her belts, making quick work of them. Her pants fell to the floor, bunching around her ankles before she kicked them away. She strode over to the bed, her chainmail shirt acting like a dress as it hung down past her thighs. The Inquisitor didn't need an invitation as he reached out, taking her hand and twirling her around to face him. She let out a girlish giggle and then his lips crashed against hers. He deepened the kiss and she let out a breathless moan, backing up until she hit the edge of the bed. She fell backwards, her fingers curling in the sheets as she caught herself, Mahanon climbing after her. She shifted, climbing backwards as Mahanon moved with her, straddling her lap. Their lips never stopped touching, and Cassandra felt heat coiling in her core. When Mahanon's tongue slipped into her mouth, dancing with her own, she traced her fingers down his chest to the waistband of his pants. She undid the lacing almost frantically, and helped him kick them off the bed. Mahanon pulled back, leaving her breathless and frustrated. She let out a groan. "Anxious, are we?" he asked, a teasing lilt to his tone despite his harsh breathing. She squirmed underneath him. "You have no idea," she said, almost desperately. She ached, deep inside, now. It was almost frightening that the Inquisitor had this effect on her.

Mahanon smirked. "Patience," he whispered, and Cassandra wondered what he was planning. He presses his lips to her neck, licking and nibbling gently, making her moan and arch towards his touch. He pulls back abruptly, and she looks at him questioningly. He shifts down the bed, pushing the chainmail up and laying soft kisses along her stomach. She squirms again, letting out a gasp as he moved lower. As his tongue parted her folds, Cassandra arched up off of the bed, her fingers scrabbling in the sheets. "Oh, Maker," she gasps, and Mahanon smirks against her. He pushes her legs apart, his tongue lapping along her steadily growing wetness. His tongue circles her clit once, never quite touching, before dipping inside her. Her back arches off the bed, and one hand moves to tangle in his hair, pushing him closer. Her other hand drifts to her breast, squeezing it in her palm. "Maker, don't you dare stop," she orders breathlessly, although Mahanon had no plans to do so. Her legs wrap around him, driving his tongue deeper, and Cassandra lets out a cry. She bites her lip, and his tongue flicks upwards, putting pressure on the hard little nub. Cassandra barely bit back a scream as a flood of wetness gushed out of her. He laps it up, barely containing the smirk as Cassandra collapsed back onto the bed, covered in sweat and panting heavily.

He crawls back up the bed, kissing her again. She could taste herself on his lips and it was intoxicating. "You really are a wild elven madman," she teases, kissing him again, softly. "I suppose I am. Too bad it can't be helped," he replies, an infuriating smirk on his face. Cassandra bites his bottom lip, her tongue smoothing over the spot seconds later. "Don't think I've forgotten about you, now," she says, flipping them over suddenly, a wicked smirk painted across her face as she straddles him. He opened his mouth to retort and she placed her finger over his lips, effectively shushing him. "Hush, love, no more words," she murmurs, removing her finger and kissing him gently. He smirks again as she pulls away, and finally tugs her chainmail shirt over her head, tossing it away. He reaches up, palming her breasts. She lets out a whimper, throwing her head back as she shifted. She could feel his hardness pressing against her legs, and were he not rolling her nipples between his fingers, she might have laughed. She rocks her hips once against him, sliding along his length, and it's Mahanon's turn to gasp.

She rises up, guiding him inside slowly as she sank down on him. She let out a few moans as Mahanon whimpered beneath her, his hips arching up. She settled down on his length, rocking forward, and Mahanon let out a long, low groan. The two of them settle into a rhythm as she rocks against him. She grinds against him, her breathing becoming erratic once more. He thrusts twice more, hard, and he spirals out of control, calling her name. She follows him over the edge a second later, collapsing against his chest, as they both try desperately to catch their breath.

Cassandra lets out a dry chuckle, kissing along his collarbone. Mahanon wraps his arm around her, squeezing her hip gently, and she looks at the stub where his other arm used to be. Solas had taken that arm, like he had taken Mahanon's friendship and shattered it, and only Cassandra ever got to see what it looked like, aside from the healers. It didn't look like a normal amputated limb, as a Seeker Cassandra had seen a few of those. It was cracked, with green veins glowing underneath the skin, and it looked much like the mark had. "Does it…does it still hurt?" she asks, reaching out and touching it with feather-light fingertips. He shakes his head. "Only sometimes. I don't think about it much, anymore," he answers, shrugging. "Do you still have a connection to the Fade?" she asks, curious. She'd never asked much about his arm before. "I'm not sure. When Solas took the mark, I thought my connection was cut off, but…" he admits, trailing off. "It's still glowing," she finished, glancing up at his face. He looked pensive, like something had left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Yes, it is," he agrees grimly.

"Is it possible that you still have it? That it'll still try…try to…" she trails off, unable to complete her sentence. "To kill me?" he asks, his mouth twisting in a grimace, "I honestly don't know." He looks at the stump, then back at Cassandra. "If it becomes a problem, we'll face it together," he says, sighing. Cassandra shook her head. "No! You should tell the others! Maybe they can help, find a way to stop it! We can help!" she says frantically, and Mahanon's hand rubs soothing circles on her back. "Sssh, Cassandra, love, it's all right, calm down," he says, "look, we'll figure this out, and I'll be fine. Trust me," he says, a hopeful smile on his face. "I do trust you. I don't trust it," she says, pointing to the green veins.

"Cassandra, I…Look, I'll tell the group sometime tomorrow. I just need…time," he says. Cassandra sighs, surrendering. "All right, I understand. I won't make you do anything yet, but if you don't tell them…I will," she says. Mahanon smiles, and kisses her cheek. "I know. I love you, Cassandra," he says, and she smiles slowly. "I love you too, Mahanon," she replies, snuggling up against him. "We'll talk about this all tomorrow, okay?" he asks. "Okay. Goodnight, love," she says, kissing him one final time before curling back up against his side, her eyelids already drooping. "Goodnight," he murmurs, and the two of them fall asleep together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: i dont own anything by the creators of dragon age But i hope you enjoy my story or my take on what should happen after Inquisition**

 **I like to thank my Co-Author/Beta Reader antiviancrows www . fanfiction u/7105610/ please visit her page and check her work its great**

 **Chapter Five:**

The next morning, Mahanon woke slowly. He yawned, and when he went to stretch, he noticed he was pinned down. His eyes opened slowly and a lazy smile spread across his face as he saw Cassandra nestled against him. He loved how peaceful she looked, and he reached over and gently brushed a few strands of hair from her face. He leans down, kissing her forehead. She groans, squirming away from the light and burying her face in his chest. "It's time to wake up, Seeker," he says softly, his lips brushing her cheek. He ran his fingers through her hair. When it wasn't braided, it flowed down past her shoulders.

"Ugh, not yet," she groaned. Mahanon chuckled. "Okay, well, how about I go downstairs and bring breakfast up to you? That way, we can eat in peace," he suggests, moving to sit up. Her grip tightened around him. "Just a little longer," she pleads, her eyes not yet open. The Inquisitor smiled as he relented, sinking back into the bed and Cassandra's embrace. "Okay, just a little longer," he promised, his voice soothing. Truthfully, Mahanon didn't want to get up either. He wanted this moment to last forever, with the haze of sleep still hanging over them, and Cassandra's soft smile, and he felt a rush of affection towards her. But he knew it wouldn't last, and as he glanced at where his marked hand used to be, he could feel the corruption crawling under his skin. He wouldn't dare admit it, but the anchor was literally weighing him down, and he was getting weaker every day. He feared that, when everything was over, he wouldn't survive. He could only hope Cassandra did.

After a few moments of lying there, basking in their time together, there was a knock on the door. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything, but breakfast is ready and everyone else is downstairs, so you two lovebirds better get up now, before I burst in," came Dorian's muffled voice. Smugness practically leaked off of him and through the crack under the door, and it only intensified after when he knocked again after a moment of silence. Mahanon chuckled as Cassandra groaned. "We're up, Dorian," she growled, pulling away slowly from Mahanon. "Good to hear," came the cheery reply, "I'll be seeing you two downstairs shortly. Oh, and you might want to hurry before Cullen eats all the eggs. I've honestly never seen anyone eat as much as Bull has before this. It's astounding." His footsteps down the hall a moment later signal his departure.

The Inquisitor rolls his eyes as he sits up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. Cassandra groggily pulled on her pants, and then sat down at the mirror to braid her hair. Her fingers worked quickly, automatically, and Mahanon spent a moment admiring her before snatching some of his own clothes and haphazardly pulling them on. He walked behind her, wrapping his arm around her and pressing his lips into the crook of her neck. The Seeker let out a soft whine, leaning her head back and giving him more access. "I'm going to go save some breakfast for us while you finish getting dressed," he promised, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. She reached up, straightening his collar. "All right. I'll see you in a few minutes," she promises.

Leliana sat back in one of the chairs, sipping a glass of honeyed wine. Cullen was, amazingly, still eating. She couldn't stop a chuckle at his appetite. Harding was asleep on the nearby couch; after a long night of work, she still needed some shut-eye. Dorian walks past, smoothly grabbing a plate just before Cullen could grab it. "Hey, I was going to eat that!" the blonde man protests. "Ah, ah, ah. No more. You're cut off until dinner," Dorian says. "Come on, I need the energy," he pleads. "You'll just have to make do," Dorian retorts. "If you'd seen the food Isabela served us on the Siren's Call, you wouldn't cut me off," Cullen complains. The magister chuckles, "too bad." The commander slouches back, sulking, as Mahanon enters the dining room.

"Don't worry, Cullen, I'm sure you'll find a way to sneak more food later," the Inquisitor says, taking the plate from Dorian and shoveling a few spoonful's of eggs into his mouth. On another table nearby, Dorian spreads out a large map of Tevinter. Cullen and Mahanon both drift slowly towards it, and after a quick glance at the still-sleeping Harding, Leliana joins them, the wine still in her hand. "Leliana, what were you and Harding able to find?" Mahanon asks as he eats. "Well, from what we found, Lieutenant Rolcus was correct. There is Venatori activity in the city. I did some digging and it appears that a Horus Sinclair may have dealings with him, although there's no information on why," she says. "I remember Horus," Dorian says, "After I fell out with Alexius, Horus became his pupil. He's close to taking Alexius's seat in the circle." The Inquisitor nods slowly, absorbing the information as he sits his now-empty plate aside. "We should definitely look into him, and find out more about the Venatori's plans, now that we're in the city," he says thoughtfully. Leliana nods in agreement. "Yes, I agree. There's a meeting amongst the circle later today, although I was unable to find out what it was about. Harding and I can check out his estate while he's gone," Leliana suggests.

"Sounds good. Is there anything else?" he asks, and Cullen pulls out a report he'd gotten from a scout. He'd hidden it away in one of his many pockets. "Yes. It appears that there are a large number of caravan attacks in the South along the Imperial Highway," he reports, marking locations on the map as he does. Mahanon frowns, leaning on the table and observing the map, as if it holds answers. "Are there any suspects?" he asks. "Yes. Some think it's the Qunari, threatening to cut off the supply line. But, if it were the Qunari, it doesn't make sense. They should be attacking the larger Tevinter vessels, to make more of an impact. It could also be darkspawn, as there have also been light tremors reported in the area. I wouldn't rule them out, so we should be cautious," Cullen adds.

Mahanon is silent for a moment, thinking over the new information. "If we found out where these attacks are coming from and stop them, then that would build up a rapport with the Tevinter higher-ups," he says. "Yes, but we can start somewhere else with building support amongst the magisters," Dorian says. Mahanon turns to him, a silent question in his eyes. "There are tournaments, held in the Grand Arena here in Minrathas, and if we were to place our names in the bidding and win, we'd get a large reputation boost. Here in Minrathas, any title won through the Arena is a title that commands respect," the magister answers, with no small amount of smugness in his tone. "Dorian, you know I can fight, and I couldn't bring myself to ask one of you to risk your lives like that for me," Mahanon protests. "I thought about that, too. That's why we'll use a slave."

"WE WILL DO NO SUCH THING," snarled Cassandra, barreling into the room. She'd heard the tail end of the conversation as she walked down the hall, but she wouldn't stand for using slaves. The magister, when faced with her anger, ducks behind Mahanon, using him as a human shield. This angers her even further. "Stop hiding, you coward. How could you even think of using a slave? That's completely dishonorable!" she growls, trying to reach around Mahanon to get to Dorian. The magister has no doubts that she'd throttle him if he let her get close enough. "Seeker, wait! You haven't even let me explain!" Dorian points out, dodging backwards. Cassandra stills. "Then talk," she says, having little patience.

"Look, if we participate, we can show that we respect and honor Tevinter traditions, which will build a favorable reputation for when we go to the magisters and ask them for help. This plan will lengthen your lifespan here," Dorian says, straightening himself out. "But, Dorian, there's still the matter of using a slave. I can't do that," Mahanon interjects. "I know how much you hate slavery, and that's why we have to use a slave. If we win, then the slave will be put in our care, and we can free them. I hate slavery as much as you do, and that's why I've been working nonstop to end it, but with my plan, we can gain support from the magisters and we can gain an ally that's strong enough to survive the Gauntlet of the Arena. Isn't that what you're here for?" Dorian explains, crossing his arms.

Mahanon thinks. Slavery was…despicable, but if they could make life better and free at least one slave, then it might be worth it. He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes drifting to Cassandra. "Mahanon?" she asks, curious as to what he's thinking. He turns to Dorian. "I'm not saying I'll agree to this. I need to see the Arena, and after that, I'll decide," he says. Dorian's broad smile is almost enough to bring one onto Mahanon's face. Cullen and Cassandra are surprised at his reaction, but they're willing to along with him. "You won't regret it, I swear," Dorian promises, as he pats the Inquisitor's shoulder. Cassandra narrows her eyes at the Mahanon. "I hope you know what you're doing," she says, the vague promise of a threat lingering in her tone. "Yes, I hope so too," Mahanon sighs hoping he wont regret this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: i dont own anything by the creators of dragon age But i hope you enjoy my story or my take on what should happen after Inquisition**

 **I like to thank my Co-Author/Beta Reader antiviancrows www . fanfiction u/7105610/ please visit her page and check her work its great**

Chapter Six:

Mahanon looked over at his friends. In all honesty, they were closer to his family, now, and he was closer to them than perhaps he'd been to his clan. He knew that this would be the first step in ending this fight for good, and Mahanon felt pride swell in his chest. They had already accomplished so much, and if anyone could win this fight, it would be them. "All right, this is the plan," he began, "Cullen, Cassandra, and Harding, I want you to find out who's attacking these caravans and why. Take as many men as you need; I want you all to be safe," he glances at them individually, and they all give him small nods of agreement in return. "As you wish. We'll make sure we don't take any unnecessary risks," Cassandra says, holding his gaze for a moment longer. Mahanon smiles before continuing, "Leliana, I want you to see to Horus's estate. I'd rather not send you alone, but…" he trailed off, and Leliana chimed in, a smile on her face. "It's quite all right. The others are needed elsewhere, and I'll be less noticeable on my own. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"Very well. Dorian and I shall go to this Arena. Hopefully, it'll be worth it," Mahanon says. Dorian smirks, smugness practically radiating off of the magister. "Oh, my friend, trust me, it'll be worth it," Dorian assures. Mahanon simply heaves out a sigh and nods once more. "Okay, everyone has their assignments, so let's get to it," he says, and the room bursts into a flurry of movement as everyone begins to prepare.

Mahanon watches from the background as everyone gears up in arms and armor, and says their goodbyes in preparation for the mission. He glances down at the stub that used to be his arm, the pain leeching upwards. Ever since the Breach had opened, Mahanon had stood at the forefront of a battle. Now? He felt washed up and weak, standing off to the side while everyone else charged into a fight. It felt wrong, deep in the pit of his stomach, and it set him on edge. Dorian could see Mahanon's face change, and he made his way across the room and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Come, now, I know it's hard, but it's for the best. They know how to take care of each other. You trained them well," the magister says, in an attempt to soothe and cheer up the elf. He bowed and twirled, pointing outside in a grandiose attempt at making Mahanon laugh, and he was rewarded with a reluctant smile from the elf. "Come, now, our chariot awaits," Dorian says.

Mahanon boards a carriage with the magister. It, like everything else about Dorian's estate, was grand, and Mahanon spent a few moments simply admiring the vehicle as it began moving through the streets of Minrathas, and then his gaze was captivated by the view. The Grand Arena wasn't far, leaving a blessedly short ride until Mahanon was unfolding himself out of the carriage. Like the rest of the capital of Tevinter, the Grand Arena didn't seem quite real to the elf. It was a massive, towering structure decorated with dark stones, dragons etched into the walls and pillars. At the main gates, one on either side, there were two massive statues of the same dark stone of a mage and a warrior. "Welcome to the Amphitheatre of Minrathas, the largest in all of Tevinter," Dorian said, with no small amount of pride in his voice, leading the way through the main gates. "It is quite impressive," Mahanon murmured, his neck craning back as he looked up.

A crowd was massing at the entrance, filtering in slowly to be seated. Dorian pulled Mahanon aside. "So, what's next? What do we have to do?" the Inquisitor asked, shuffling nervously. Dorian sighed, glancing around. "Look, first we need to find a…a gladiator to represent the Inquisition, since we're here to build up your reputation. Whomever you choose to fight under your banner will fight for three rounds, and if they live, a final match will be fought between the last two standing Gladiators," the magister answered. Mahanon frowned, raising an eyebrow. "Just how dangerous are these fights, Dorian?" he asked. "Very dangerous. Most often, the matches are bloodbaths. That's why they're so popular," Dorian replies cautiously. Mahanon shakes his head, but the path has been set. "I guess there's no backing down now. Where do I go find the gladiators?" he mumbled, finally, and Dorian let out a breath of relief. Mahanon just wanted this entire situation to end. "Just down the stairs, into the lower levels. The guards can point you into the right direction once you get down there, and I'll go see to our seats," Dorian says. Mahanon nods, repeating the directions in his mind as Dorian calls over a guard to escort him.

The lower levels looked more like a prison than anything else. Many of the gladiators and slaves were in barred cells, and it stank. The guard escorting him stopped at the end of the hall, turning to Mahanon. "Now choose your meat, and let the register know your choice before heading to your seat," the guard said, his tone emotionless and cold. Mahanon bristled at the guard's word choice, but held himself in check.

Once the guard was gone, Mahanon walked down the row of cells. Many of the slaves held within were diseased and starving, and it made the Inquisitor sick to look at them. He felt a deep, profound sorrow at their plight, and wished desperately there was something he could do to help them. None of them, however, would have stood a chance in the Arena. Then, he approached a new set of cells down a side corridor. The sign in front of them read "death row" and it left Mahanon with an ominous feeling of dread. However, he still hadn't found a champion, and so he pressed on. In the new corridor, there were few cells, and only three of them were occupied.

A Qunari, a bulging mass of muscles that could easily have passed for an ogre, occupied the cell closest to Mahanon. The Qunari was nearly ten feet tall, and he seemed to ooze anger. In the middle cell on the right stood a mage, average in appearance, with sickly pale skin. His fingers were curled around the bars of the cell, and his black hair hung limply around his shoulders. A dark aura pulsed and danced around the mage, making Mahanon uneasy. In the farthest cell on the left was an elf, bloody, broken, and beaten, but the wounds on his body were from battle, not torture. The Inquisitor forced himself to look at all three with a critical eye, although he felt dirty and wrong.

He started with the Qunari. He approached the cell cautiously, and gave the hulking mass a reassuring smile. "Hello. My name is Mahanon, what's yours?" he asks. The Qunari looks down upon him for a few heartbeats before grunting in response. "Um, I'm sorry. Can you speak?" he asks, receiving only another grunt for his trouble. He opened his mouth to ask something else, but the Qunari shifted, turning his back on the Inquisitor. "All right then," he muttered, before turning and walking towards the mage.

The mage eyed him with desperation. "Greetings, my name is Mahanon," the Inquisitor said. "Are…are you here to choose a gladiator?" the mage asked meekly, peering up at Mahanon. His fingers tightened their grip on the bars. "Yes, I am," Mahanon answered cautiously. The mage sparked curiosity within him, but the dark aura only intensified. "Oh, thank the Maker. Please, you have to choose me. Please. I'm…I'm a good fighter. I'll do anything it takes to win, I promise. But if…if no one chooses me, I'll be stuck in here," the mage pleads, stuttering. Desperation leaked off the mage, and Mahanon wrapped his arm around his stomach. The mage takes a deep breath before continuing. "My name is Jowan. I've…I've been a prisoner here for the past eight years. I thought Tevinter would be better than the Circle was, but I was wrong. This is so much worse than anything the Circle could have done to me. Please, help me. Help me return home, and I'll do anything for you." The man's words didn't sit right with Mahanon; the other man felt…wrong.

"Why were you imprisoned?" he asks, and Jowan shakes his head. "Because I stole from a few merchants. I was starving and homeless, and they just threw me in here without mercy. They're monsters, but I can see you're not like any of them," Jowan answered, hope gleaming in his dull eyes. The wrongness of the situation intensified, and Mahanon only wordlessly backed away, towards the elf's cage. The mage's pleas followed him for a few minutes, before the man gave up and disappeared into the dark corners of his cage, and only then did Mahanon turn his back and face the elf.

The elf was hunched over, mumbling something to himself. Mahanon shifted closer, his ears straining, before he could make out the words. "My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours. For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one," the elf said. Mahanon recognized the verse from the Chant of Light almost instantly. "You're Andrastian?" he asked, before he could stop himself. The elf flinched, startled, and turned around suddenly to face Mahanon. "Oh, uh, no, not really. I…I just say it for my father's sake," he answers, tucking the Andrastian sun amulet he wore and tucking it under his ragged shirt. "What's your name?" Mahanon asks, standing closer to the bars that he perhaps should have. "Tabris. Darrian Tabris. What's yours?" the elf replied, his arms crossed over his chest as he gazed at the Inquisitor. "My name is Mahanon Lavellan. I'm the-" he began, but Tabris cut him off. "The Inquisitor, yeah. I've heard all about you, and what you've done. Even among the slaves of Tevinter, your name is well known. But…what are you doing in a place like this?"

"Trying to save the world," Mahanon answered, a faint smile quirking up the corners of his lips. Darrian shrugs. "I doubt you can do a whole lot of that by betting on slaves," he remarks. "Trust me, this wasn't my first choice," Mahanon says, shaking his head. Darrian snorted, turning and stalking to the corner of his cell. "Yeah, I bet," he answered bitterly, shaking hands dipping into a bucket of stagnant water. Darrian drank eagerly, but most of the water still spilled past his lips and down his chest, making furrows in the dirt and blood caked there. "So, Tabris, tell me about yourself," Mahanon prompts. Darrian turns slightly to look back at the Inquisitor. "What do you want to know?" he asks. "How did you get here, in this Arena?" Mahanon asks, his slight smile turning to a frown. Darrian sighs, and it's a few moments before he answers.

"I killed my magister. Or, at least, that's what everybody says. I don't remember what happened. They found me in a pool of her blood and sentenced me to death. They decided to use the Arena to draw out that sentence, but the sentence stands nonetheless," he answers. The other elf tried to speak in a detached manner, but there were cracks in his mask, and Mahanon could sense the pain he was in, and he wrapped his fingers around one of the bars. "I know what it's like, to be accused of murder, but to be unable to remember anything," he murmured softly. "It sucks," Darrian answers. He wipes his face and sucks in a deep breath, doing his best to seal those cracks in his mask.

"If you're here to choose someone to bet on, I'd go with the Qunari. If you'd seen how many people he'd killed when they brought him in, you'd have no doubts about him," he comments, sitting on the ground and crossing his legs. Mahanon sighed as he turned around, and then stopped. "Tabris, I want to ask another question. If you were freed, and granted full freedom, what would you do with it?" the Inquisitor asks, turning to face Tabris. Tabris paused, considering. He'd never thought about it before. "Well, I don't know. I lived so long serving and fighting that it's all I know," he answer, his voice soft and empty, "maybe I'd find out who really killed her, and kill them. Even…even if it turns out that I did it." Mahanon's eyebrows shot towards his hairline in surprise. "Why? Why go through all the trouble?" he asked, his curiosity getting in the way of his manners. "My magister wasn't as evil as some would think. She didn't deserve what happened to her, and maybe if I find who it was, she can finally rest in peace," Darrian whispers, closing his eyes. The honesty in his words touched Mahanon. "Good luck in the Arena, Tabris," the Inquisitor murmured, turning to go. "You too, Mahanon. I hope you win," followed him.

Mahanon approached the booth, only to have a man push past him, catching him on the shoulder and making him stumble. "Watch it!" barked the guard accompanying the man, who continued on to the booth as though nothing had happened. "I'd like to place a bet," he announces, before catching sight of Mahanon and seeing him properly. Mahanon eyed up the man; he was wearing silken green robes trimmed in gold, and he had dark black hair and thick mutton chops. "Ah, so the disgraced Inquisitor finally decided to join the better half of the world. I'm not sure whether it was out of desperation or because you were banished and simply had nowhere else to go," he snarked, laughing in a disgustingly nasally voice. "Neither. I'm visiting a friend, whom you might know as magister Pavus," Mahanon retorted, venom seeping into his tone. "No matter, I doubt he'll be able to protect you for long," the man answered, and Mahanon's eyes narrowed. "Was that a threat?" he asked, pleasantness thinly veiling the anger in his tone.

"No, just clarifying the obvious, is all," the man answers, and Mahanon clenches his fist. "Magister Horus, who shall I enter your bet as?" the clerk asks, clearly impatient. "Ah, so you're Horus. I had a feeling I was going to run into you soon," Mahanon says, his anger vanishing in a flash of realization. "I suppose my reputation proceeds me, then," Horus answers, somewhat gleefully. When Mahanon doesn't answer immediately, he turns back to the clerk. "I want to place my bet on that Ferelden mage, Jowan," Horus said, proudly, smugness practically radiating off of him. "No, I just heard some slaves talking about the magister with a really small dick," Mahanon drawled, enjoying the way Horus's face turned red. "Watch your tongue, filth, or my face will be the last thing you see when I snuff out your life!" he screamed. Mahanon only smirked unflinchingly at the magister's outburst.

Horus opens his mouth to say something else; perhaps to demand a response, a horn went off. "Oh! Looks like the games are about to start. We'll continue this later, Inquisitor," Horus said, spitting out Mahanon's title as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. He snapped his fingers and the two guards at his side jerked to attention, leading Horus up into the upper floor of the Arena. Mahanon shakes his head and steps up to the booth. "Hello, how may I help you?" the clerk asks pleasantly, as if he hadn't overheard the exchange just in front of him. "I'd like to place a bet on one of the slaves," Mahanon replied in a polite voice. The clerk smiled at him, "of course. Who should we place under your banner, Inquisitor?" Mahanon doesn't hesitate. "I choose Darrian Tabris as my champion," he says, undoing a sash from his belt and passing it to the clerk, "and I want someone to give him that to wear."

"Certainly. Is there anything you wish for me to tell him?" the clerk asks. Mahanon thinks for a moment before answering. "Yes. Tell him…tell him, 'Draw your last breath, my friends, cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven. Trials 1:16." The clerk nods, accepting the sash and closing the booth. "Time for the fight to begin," Mahanon murmured to himself, and then made his way to the seat Dorian had saved for him.

Chapter Seven:

Tabris sat in the damp dark of his cell, waiting. He could hear the cheers of the crowd above him, and idly he drew random figures in the dirt by his feet. His ears picked up the sound of someone approaching long before they arrived, and he turned just enough so he could see the clerk and two guards approach his cell. "Darrian Tabris, you have been selected to be Mahanon Lavellan's champion," the clerk said. Tabris' eyebrows shot towards his hairline, confusion coloring his face as he wondered why he had been chosen. "Serah Lavellan asked me to give you this, and he requested that I give you the following message as well," the clerk continued, passing the sash to Tabris through the bars, "'Draw your last breath, my friends, cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven. Trials 1:16.'" Tabris accepts the sash, eyeing the golden Inquisition's symbol stitched onto the red fabric. He nods absentmindedly, thanking the clerk as he tied the sash around his waist.

"Time to move, filth," one of the guards snarled, after the clerk turned the corner. Tabris nodded, moving towards the bars on his cell. "You know the routine," sneered the other, and Tabris slid his hands through a gap in the bars. One of the guards fastened a pair of metal handcuffs around his wrists. He backs out of the way as they open the door, and then they lead him down the hallway, his bare feet calloused from so many trips down this same hallway. Solemnly, he remembers his first trips down this hallway, the ones that left his feet cracked and bleeding. The guards come to an abrupt stop, shaking Tabris out of his reverie. One opens the door to the armory, and the other unchains his wrists before throwing him inside. The heavy door locks behind him, and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the brighter light.

Tabris observes the wall of weapons, taking a moment to decide which to use. He grabs a set of short swords, examining their edges. He noted that they were duller than normal, and he set about sharpening them. He had plenty of time before he was going to fight. When they were sharpened enough for use, he set them aside for a moment. He reached for his steel breastplate, fastening the straps with easy familiarity. He dressed in his greaves next, and then his gauntlets, and boots, and finally his helmet. He slid the swords into the sheathes on his back, and then did one final check on his armor, adjusting the straps and making sure everything was on properly. Most of his body was covered; his helmet on allowed a small slit in front of his eyes.

With a deep breath to steel himself, Tabris heading up the ramp, pausing at the entrance to the Arena. The noise was almost deafening now, and Tabris could see the lights shining through the cracks in the wooden door. He took another deep breath here, his hands drifting to his swords and pulling them from their sheathes. Anxiety twisted in his stomach. This was far from his first fight, but Tabris was far more nervous than he had been for any of them. "Father, Mother, if you're watching me, then please give me strength," Tabris murmured, as the rickety wooden gate began to rise.

Dorian had gotten seats for the two of them in one of the higher-level balconies that overlooked the Arena. When Mahanon was lead to their seats, Dorian was reclining comfortably in one of the chairs, sipping a glass of wine. "Oh, you're just in time, good. The fights are about to start," Dorian says excitedly, sitting up and putting his wineglass on the table. Two servants wordlessly take Mahanon's cloak as he's seated, and then bring him his own glass of wine. "Did I miss anything?" Mahanon asks, accepting the glass and settling comfortably into his seat. "No, you're just in time," Dorian answers, "although, who did you end up betting on?" Mahanon takes a sip from his glass of wine, pleased with the sweet taste that danced over his tongue. He picks up a biscuit from the tray on the table, as well. "I chose an elf named Tabris," Mahanon answers.

"Is he a mage?" Dorian asks, a tinge of nervousness in his tone that hadn't been there before. "No, why?" Mahanon asked, turning to look at Dorian. The other man heaved a sigh. "Mages are automatically granted a spot in the final round of the games, letting all the warrior types fight it out. Mages usually win, because it's a last man standing fight, and the mages don't do much work," Dorian says, chewing on his bottom lip. "What's done is done, but no matter what the odds are, Tabris has a shot," Mahanon says. The gates open slowly, and Tabris walks into the Arena. "How do you know?" Dorian asks, glancing at his friend curiously. "I just do," the elf answers with a smirk.

Tabris steps out into the glaring sunlight, sweat already beading on his forehead as the audience lets out a roar. The noise fades into the background as Tabris' opponent rushes at him, screaming as he swings his sword at Tabris. The elf dodges the clumsy strikes nimbly, the blade grinding along his helmet in a shriek of metal as Tabris sinks his sword into his opponent's chest. The sword pokes out the man's back, and he can only gasp once before Tabris yanks the sword back out and the man collapses. As he walks forward, his head held high, the other gladiators eye him up as he twirls his swords in his hands, almost daring them to attack. They glance among each other before one breaks away, rushing towards Tabris.

Tabris drags the point of one of his swords through the dirt, throwing the sand into the man's face and blinding him. The blinded man lets out a shriek, swinging wildly. Tabris dodges the strikes, and with one mighty swipe, the man's head falls to the ground, blood flowing like a river where it used to be attached. The corpse pitches forward, and the other gladiators let out sounds of rage as they all rush him at once. Two men begin to attack at once, but he parries and blocks their hits with ease, moving fluidly as if he were dancing. The edge of one blade slides along the throat of the man on his left, and in the same moment he twists, sinking both swords into the chest of the other man.

The crowd goes wild, whipped into a frenzy by the bloodshed before them. As they shout and scream, another opponent rushes towards Tabris, his shield raised as he runs to meet the elf. Tabris raises his own sword to meet the incoming shield bash, the impact making his teeth rattle. The man hits him with this shield again, making Tabris lose his footing and stumble. The man's sword cuts deeply into Tabris' arm, and the elf lets out a low groan, stumbling again before regaining his footing. He side-steps the next three attacks easily, before lunging at the man. He raises his shield up to block, but Tabris reaches around the shield, slicing into the man's arm. With a howl from his opponent, the arm falls completely off, and Tabris decides to end his suffering. One sword finds itself buried in his stomach, and the other slashes across his throat. His head joins the other on the ground.

A horn rings out, and Tabris heaves a heavy sigh. He kneels over, the pain hitting him with a sudden rush. Blood drips down his arm, and he scoops up a handful of sand to seal the wound. He presses it into it, and it _burns_. He bites back a scream, letting out a choked whimper instead. Though it still hurt, the bloodflow stopped, and Tabris allowed himself to relax a little.

Mahanon was deeply impressed by the display. "Still doubting me?" he asks Dorian, smugness radiating from him. "Oh, I never doubted you," Dorian answers. "Oh, really?" Mahanon says, chuckling and rolling his eyes. He glances around the Arena, and on the balcony below them, he spotted Horus. His eyes narrowed, and Dorian picked up on the sudden tension. He followed his friend's gaze. "Speak of the devil. I suppose Horus decided to join in on the fun, too," Dorian says, before taking a deep drink of the wine. "Yeah, I ran into him earlier. He pushed me aside at the betting booth," Mahanon remarked. "Oh, really? Who did he bet on?" Dorian asks, his gaze boring into the other magister's back. "A mage prisoner. Jowan," Mahanon answers.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Jowan? You mean the mage who's known as a serial killer?" he asks. It's Mahanon's turned to be surprised. "What do you mean, a serial killer?" the Inquisitor asks. "Unless it's a different Jowan, the one locked up here slaughtered men, women, and children all for use in his blood magic rituals," Dorian explains, a disgust seeping into his tone. "I knew something was off when he gave me that sob story," Mahanon growls, his gaze returning to Tabris. "Yeah. I hope your miracle boy can handle him," Dorian says, concern coloring his features as the horn sounds again.

The moment the horn goes off, Tabris stumbles to his feet. He stretches his shoulders for a moment, limbering up before the next fight. As the gates rose slowly, he took up his fighting stance, although what he saw step out shocked him. The massive Qunari strode into the Arena, hefting a might battle-axe onto his shoulder. Tabris gulped, but he stood his ground as the Qunari slowly stalked forward, every inch of him screaming predator. When their eyes met, Tabris could see the primal rage within, and when the horn sounded once more, time seemed to both stop and speed up.

Tabris made the first move, rushing towards the Qunari. The Qunari waiting, swinging his battle-axe once Tabris was within range. The elf barely managed to roll to the side. He jumped to his feet again, and leapt at the Qunari. The beast of a man swung his fist, sending Tabris flying. He hit the ground and skidded to a stop a few feet away, stunned. The Qunari stalked closer, swinging his battle-axe once more. Tabris only just managed dodge, and the two began a game. The Qunari grew ever more frustrated as Tabris dodged every strike, until one hit the elf's stomach. Tabris let out a high-pitched groan, reaching down to cradle the wound, but as he did, the Qunari kicked him in the chest, sending him to the ground.

Tabris felt the whole world spin as he lay there, blood seeping through the wound and staining his fingers. The Qunari walked over to where Tabris lay, raising his battle-axe high into the air in preparation for the killing blow. Tabris saw the beast's shadow and rolled as the axe came crashing down with almost unnatural speed. He reaches for his swords, snatching one just as he moves out of the way and struggles to his feet. The axe slammed into the ground, lodging it deeply in the dirt. Tabris saw the opportunity and took it, attacking the Qunari with gusto. The Qunari gave a few tugs on the handle of the axe, but soon gave up and resorted to his fists.

Tabris easily dodges the clumsy attacks, sliding between his legs. His sword leaves a deep gash in the Qunari's leg, making him stagger and fall to his knees. Tabris leaps onto his back, bringing the sword down with all his strength. It sinks into the Qunari's thick neck, slicing all the way through. The Qunari choked and gargled on blood as he stumbled forward, writhing in his death throes. Tabris falls off his back, ripping his helmet off and wiping sweat out of his eyes and he desperately tries to catch his breath.

Horus watched, disdain dripping off of him as he watched the hulking Qunari die at the hands of the scrawny elf. He thought his own gladiator might have more of a chance, but even the thought of Dorian and the Inquisitor winning made his blood boil. He looked up at the Inquisitor, and as he stared, he motioned one of his guards over. "Yes, my lord?" the guard asks, ready to serve. "I want men in position around the Arena. If anything goes wrong, kill the elf," Horus spits. The guard nods, and begins giving orders to the others.

Mahanon and Dorian both let out breaths they hadn't known they were holding when the Qunari finally lay dead. "That was too close," Dorian says, pouring the majority of the remaining wine into his glass. "Yes it was," Mahanon agreed, "I can barely believe he managed to kill that Qunari. It's bigger than Bull is!" Dorian laughs lightly. "In more ways than one, I believe. But now he's dead, and the final round approaches," the magister says, ordering another bottle of wine. He glances down, noticing how Horus and his guards move towards the lower levels. Dorian narrows his eyes. "What are you up to?" he murmurs, glancing at Mahanon. The Inquisitor noticed nothing off, feeling consistently better about choosing Tabris. He felt equally worried, however, as the next fight was against Jowan. Knowing about blood magic as he did, Mahanon feels deeply unsettled. He doubts the next match will be a fair one.

Once Tabris had caught his breath, he went to work, quickly ripping strips of cloth from the uniforms of his dead opponents, using them to bind his wounds. He knew who he would be up against next, and he tested some of the other weapons, taking the best. He picks up a shield, strapping it to his injured arm. He couldn't wield a sword in it as easily, anyhow, and the shield made him feel safer. As he tightened the straps, the horn sounded again, and the wooden gates began to retract torturously slowly. Tabris adopts his fighting stance once more, and Jowan steps through the gate, his staff in hand. Gone was the pathetic weakling that Mahanon had met down below, and replacing him was a man thirsty for blood. He looked every inch the killer he was.

Tabris held his sword and shield firmly as Jowan's gaze met his, the tension between them so thick it could have been cut. Sweat beads on Tabris' forehead underneath his helmet. Tabris waited in anticipation for the horn to go off, but before it did, Jowan swung his staff, and a ball of fire flew towards the elf. Tabris raised his shield, just barely blocking the fire. Sparks flew towards his face, and the stadium goes quiet as Tabris staggers backwards. Jowan begins to pelt Tabris with fireballs, the horn just now going off. Mahanon watched in shock, enraged as Tabris backed up further. "That's cheating, he can't do that!" Mahanon yelled. Dorian shook his head. "He's a mage. Most rules don't apply to them," he says sadly, as they turn their full attention back to the fight.

Tabris hefted his shield and began to press forwards, towards Jowan. The barrage of fire didn't stop, even as Tabris got close enough to bash the mage with his shield. It stopped, finally, as Jowan was knocked backwards. Tabris slashed out with his sword, and Jowan blocked clumsily with his staff. Tabris wasn't used to the weight of the shield, however, and as he swung again, he stumbles. Jowan uses the chance to push Tabris backwards, and a stream of fire erupts from his hand. Tabris groans in pain as the shield heats up, turning red and then white with the heat. Tabris can't bite back his scream as his arm begins to cook from the heat, and he has no choice but to throw the shield away, ducking away from the fire in one swift movement. He falls to his knees, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as the skin on his forearm crackles and bubbles. Jowan smirks, sure that with Tabris' back turned towards him, he was going to win. He begins to charge a ball of white-hot fire in his hand. Mahanon's heart drops to his stomach as he sees the scene unfolding before him. Dorian wanted to look away as Jowan stalked towards Tabris, knowing that it was over for the elf, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, knowing if he did he would see Horus's smug face.

Tabris' breath was ragged with pain, his entire body aching, and his vision blurry. He tried to think about something, anything to bring his focus back into the fight. As his glazed eyes drift over the ground, he notices a small arrowhead poking out of the sand. He knew what he had to do, reaching clumsily for it. He had no other choice, as he placed the jagged edge against his palm and slashed downwards, blood bubbling up and streaming down his hand. He clenched his hand tightly, blood pooling and running over his burnt fingertips, and he began to chant words he didn't even know. Mahanon felt a surge of energy from his seat, his hand tingling.

Jowan's smirk grew as he felt the fire surge in his hand, and he sent it flying towards Tabris. The fire hit in a huge blast, a fiery explosion sending heat through the entire Arena. Dorian and Mahanon were silent as the flames danced down below, the rest of the stadium cheering as Jowan raised his hands in victory. "I'm so sorry. We should never have came," Dorian whispers, his voice aching with regret.

Mahanon stood; ready to walk out, but he noticed a figure moving in the fire. "No, it can't be," he murmurs, feeling the air surge with energy again. Jowan laughs as he looks up at the crowd, but he freezes in place, his body going slack with shock when he sees Tabris standing in the still-burning crater. Tabris looks down at his once-burnt hand, now completely healed, the fire circling around him. An invisible barrier holds the fire at bay, protecting him from the heat of the flames. He slowly turns to face Jowan, his eyes glowing red as smoke trails from the corner of his eyes.

Jowan shook with fear, stumbling backwards. "No! No, you can't be a mage," he wails, and the crowd falls silent as his words carry up to them and they catch sight of Tabris. "I'm not," Tabris says simply, and raises his hands. The weapons of the fallen rise around him, floating gently in the air, and Tabris narrows his eyes. He thrusts one hand forward, and a dagger goes flying towards Jowan, who blocks the strike with his staff, causing the dagger to shatter. Tabris moves in rhythm then, sending a barrage of weapons towards the mage. Jowan attempts to keep up, blocking as many as he can and shooting down as many as he can before they reach him, but he's not entirely successfully. Several nick his arms and legs and face, and one buries itself into his shoulder, causing him to whine in pain.

Tabris glances at the many bodies surrounding them, and he could still feel the blood in their veins. He lifts his hands again, and the bodies jerk off the ground, spasming as the blood is drawn out of them and towards Tabris. The crowd is hushed in shock as the blood floats and dances around the elf, almost artfully. Jowan leans heavily on his staff, trying to limp away. Tabris growls, lunging forward. The blood surrounds Jowan, lifting him a foot off the ground, only to freeze instantly and trap Jowan in frozen blood. His fingers are barely able to grasp his staff, and he reaches towards it in vain, straining for it. Tabris stalks forward, yanking it out of his grip completely.

Horus could barely believe his eyes as he watched. "You fools, stop this! Kill the elf!" he shouts at his guards. They nod, and jump into the Arena, rushing towards Tabris. The crowd gasps and boos, and Mahanon stands, moving forward as if to join the fight as well. Dorian reaches forward, grabbing him. "No! If you do this, you'll only make it worse!" he shouts, his arms wrapping around Mahanon's waist to keep him from jumping. "They're going to kill him! They can't do this!" Mahanon yells, struggling to get away from Dorian. "They can. But I have a feeling he can handle himself," Dorian says, his grip tightening.

Tabris turns away from Jowan, facing the guards that rush towards him. He spins the staff, fire bursting from the crystal tip. He aims it at one of the guards, and a fireball blossoms from the staff, charging forward and hitting the man in the chest, killing him instantly. The others circle around warily, trying to avoid the firebolts as Tabris shoots them. Many of them were turned to ashes, but one got close enough to slash at Tabris, who sidestepped the attack and parried with the staff. The guard slashed at the staff, and Tabris let out a hiss of annoyance. He flicks the man's sword away with the edge of the staff, and then shoves the end into his chest. The man gasps, his hands weakly closing around the staff before he goes limp, and Tabris flings the body off the end of it.

Jowan managed to break free of the bonds on his hands, and as he was crawling away, Tabris finally turned his attention back to him. His feet were still bound in the frozen blood, and Tabris steps in front of him. Jowan stops, looking up at Tabris with pleading eyes. "Please, please let me go! I didn't want to do this! I never wanted to kill you! It was the only way they'd let me go," Jowan begs, whimpering when Tabris grabs him by the neck, cutting off his pleas. "May you find peace in the embrace of the Maker," Tabris murmurs, and then snaps Jowan's neck.

The Arena was silent for a few moments before erupting in thunderous applause, Mahanon and Dorian joining in as they watched, stunned. Tabris had won his freedom, and Horus had lost terribly. Tabris' eyes slowly went back to normal as he looked up at the crowd, his eyes focusing on the Inquisitor. Tabris sighed heavily, knowing what must be done. He picked up a discarded sword and walked proudly to the center of the Arena. He knelt on one knee, driving the blade into the dirt. "Inquisitor Lavellan, I pledge my services to you. My allegiance and servitude is yours," he calls out, bowing his head.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

The Inquisitor gazed at Tabris in pride, and although most of the stadium couldn't hear his pledge, Mahanon could. He turned to Dorian as imperial guards arrived to escort them down into the Arena. "I can't believe it. He actually won! _We_ actually won! And the look on Horus' face is priceless!" Dorian says, letting out a surprised laugh. Horus storms off, anger practically radiating off of him, and Dorian can't keep the smirk off his face. "I had my doubts, but I never lost faith in him," Mahanon replied with a breathless laugh as the guards led them down twisting corridors. Dorian gave his friend a fond smile. "Yes, well, you do seem to inspire the impossible in people. Hell, look at me. I'm an openly gay magister, and no one has tried to kill me yet," he says, chuckling. Mahanon lets out a chuckle of his own, nudging Dorian's side. "The day is still young," he points out, and Dorian lets out a long laugh. "That it is, my friend, that it is."

The guards begin to open the gate and Mahanon swallows nervously. Tabris had kept himself still, his head bowed, even as the crowd cheered, and coins and flowers rained down with their praise. Then, suddenly, he heard a creaking sound as the heavy wooden gates begin to rise again, and his head shoots upwards to look. Two rows of guards stream out, creating a path for Dorian and Mahanon to walk along. Tabris took a deep breath, nervous. He wondered if the Inquisitor would truly take a slave, or if he had just needed the win and didn't truly care about what would happen to him at all. These thoughts, and others, ran rampant through his head as he knelt on the bloodstained dirt.

As Mahanon approached the kneeling slave, the crowd went silent once more, and a heavy hush fell over the stadium. Tabris looked up at the Inquisitor, and a nervous chill raced down his spine, causing him to gulp. "Congratulations on your win. You demonstrated great skill, and even greater power," Mahanon praised. "Thank…thank you, Inquisitor. I do not deserve such praise," Tabris said as he took another deep breath, "I know I am just a slave, and, to most, an abomination, but I wish to serve you. Maybe I can find peace, serving your cause, whatever that may be." He grabs his sword and offers it hilt-first towards Mahanon. "I offer you my sword as a symbol of my bond and servitude to you. If you wish to strike me down with this sword, then you have every right, and I would not blame you." He waits for the Inquisitor to take the sword.

Mahanon stares at the sword, processing Tabris' words, and he shakes his head. "I cannot take your blade, and I will not take you as my slave," Mahanon proclaims. Tabris was surprised to hear these words, and he let out a sigh as he looked down. Mahanon reached under his cloak and pulled out a bladeless hilt. "Instead, I offer you mine," he said, holding the hilt out towards Tabris, "it is not a symbol of servitude, but of friendship and loyalty, and I ask that you accept my sword," he says, his words ringing out across the Arena. Tabris, along with everyone else, is surprised and shocked by the gesture. Tabris looked at the hilt Mahanon offered, cautiously reaching out with his free hand to accept it. As his fingers wrapped around it, he could feel magical energy surge through it, and Mahanon smiled. "It is called the spirit blade, and is the weapon of a knight-enchanter. It is the sword of an arcane warrior, and with it I ask that you accept the blade and my hand."

Tabris was stunned as he examined the weapon, and when he looked back up, the Inquisitor was holding out his hand. He took all of this in as he reached up and firmly grasped Mahanon's hand, shaking it. "Inquisitor, I accept your hand, but keep your weapon. I don't think I could wield such a thing, and it belongs in better hands than mine," he declared, handing back the weapon. "Maybe. We will see, won't we?" Mahanon answers with a smile.

A guard marched over and bowed his head. "My lord, will you come with me to collect your winnings? We will lead your slave through processing to have his wounds treated, and have him cleaned up before releasing him into your custody," he says, his voice muffled behind the visor of his helmet. Mahanon bristles, a frown on his face. "He is not a slave," he says firmly. The guard shakes his head. "Call him whatever you like, it doesn't change what he is," the guard replies, as two more of guards move to stand on either side of Tabris. Mahanon sighs as they take Tabris away, who calls out, "I'll see you soon, Inquisitor," over his shoulder before they lead him out of sight. Mahanon shakes his head, turning to Dorian. "It'll be okay. You can't change these people in one night, but maybe one day," the magister assures, patting the Inquisitor on the shoulder. "I suppose, but that doesn't mean I have to like it," the elf mutters, causing Dorian to chuckle. "Come now, my friend. Let us go get Tabris and head home. Hopefully the others are doing just as well as we are," Dorian says, leading the way to the Arena lobby.

While Dorian and Mahanon were in the glittering capital of Minrathas, Cassandra was with Cullen and Scout Harding. The three of them were on horseback, heading down the Imperial Highway, near the Valarian fields, searching for the location of the caravan attacks. Harding shared a horse with Cassandra, as they didn't have a pony. Cassandra's horse walked beside Cullen's, Albert and Meghan riding behind them, bickering to each other, and the Inquisition's troops rode behind them. "Okay, Cullen, pay up," Harding says, laughing as she breaks the silence. "Oh, fine, I will when we get back. I didn't bring any coin with me," he answers, rolling his eyes and sighing in defeat. "What are you two going on about?" Cassandra snaps, causing Harding to giggle again. "Oh, nothing. Cullen and I just made a bet, and Cullen here lost," she explains, smirking, as Cassandra turns her gaze to the commander. "What did you two bet on?" she asks, curiously. "Oh, um, nothing. Just, well, um….how long before we'd get attacked. And, see, since no one attacked us, I lost, fair and square," he stutters, turning red as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

"We actually bet on how long you would be away from the Inquisitor before it put you in a mood," Harding said, giggling again as Cassandra turned red. Cullen gulped, nudging his horse to put a little distance between him and Cassandra as she turned on him. "YOU TWO DID WHAT?!" she yells, enraged. "Hey, I defended you! I bet that you wouldn't get moody. Cullen, here, on the other hand, bet that you wouldn't last an hour," Harding says, but Cullen shakes his head and interrupts her almost immediately. "Oh, no no no. Nice try, but she started the bet, and-" he began, but Cassandra interrupted him. "Shut up, both of you. You should never have bet on something so stupid in the first place," she snarls, infuriated and hurt.

"Aw, come on, Smiley, we didn't mean anything bad by it. In fact, it's a good thing you aren't mopey about it," Harding says consolingly. Cassandra raises her brow, turning to look over her shoulder at Harding. "And why's that?" she asks. "Cause you guys trust each other, and are okay with having space in your lives," she explains. Cassandra sighs, her face softening as her anger faded slightly. "Besides, it's not like Dorian's going to steal him away from you. Okay, well, maybe. Those two are really close," she teases, catching Cullen's eye and nodding at him to play along. "Oh, yeah, very close. They took a carriage together, today, too, just the two of them. And ever since Dorian left for Tevinter, they talked all the time through that stone thing," Cullen teased, but it only served to make Cassandra angrier than ever. "If your lives were not so crucial right now, I would kill you both and leave you in shallow graves, and blame it on the darkspawn," she growled. Both of them wisely went silent.

Cassandra sighed, trying to calm herself. They were approaching one of the sites of the caravan attacks now, and she needed a clear head to focus on her task at hand. She slid off her horse, planting her feet firmly on the ground, and wordlessly turned to help Scout Harding off of the horse. They paced around it, looking for anything unusual. "Harding, can you tell us anything?" Cassandra asks, unable to see anything herself. Harding moved ahead a few paces, stopping to crouch down by a patch of flattened grass. "Something was placed here to stop the caravan. It appears that the caravan then tried to turn and go around and they seemed to have been turnnnnnning around…..here," she said, pointing to a path that led down into the woods. "How did you get all that from the grass, Harding?" Albert asked, awestruck. Harding laughed, winking at the boy. "Trade secrets," was all she said. "Yes, or the face that she was looking at the tracks in the grass," Cassandra said with a smirk. "Aw, you always take the fun out of everything," Harding pouted, "what's the plan, anyway?"

"I will go into the forest, along with Scout Harding and initiates Albert and Meghan. Cullen, you will stay here with the troops for support," Cassandra says. Cullen nods sharply. "We will be here when you return," he promises. "If we get into a bind, Cullen, I'll shoot a fire arrow into the sky. If you see it, come running," Harding says. Cullen nods again, and the group says their farewells as they parted ways.

Harding led Cassandra and the initiates deeper into the forest, following the wheel tracks and impressions. "Hey, Cass, I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to make you that angry. Cullen and I were just having fun with you. You know that, right?" she asks, concerned that she'd hurt her friend's feelings. "No, no. I overreacted. I know you both didn't mean anything by it. I guess I'm just…moody, lately," she says. She'd been noticing an intense change in her mood lately, and she'd been acting different, but she couldn't figure out why. "Don't worry about it. Maybe it has something to do with a change in your scenery. Sometimes changing locations for extended periods of time or moving can affect your mood," Harding suggested. Cassandra shook her head. "I suppose it might be that, but I'm not so certain," she answers, ducking under a branch. Harding raises her eyebrows as she shoots a glance at her friend. "What do you think it is?" she asks. "Well, it could be-" she begins, but she's cut off by the snap of a branch. Everyone fell silent, their hands landing on their weapons, tension thick in the air. Harding drew her bow as she looked around cautiously, listening for another sound. When another branch snapped, she shot an arrow in the direction, only to find that it had been a squirrel that now had its tail pinned to the tree. It struggled, whining in pain as Harding approached. "Aw, poor guy. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," Harding cooed, kneeling down and gently removing the arrow. "Sorry about that, little buddy," she murmurs as she wraps his tail in a cloth bandage.

As Harding tended to the animal, a figure lurked in the dark shadows of the forest. Slowly, an arm drew back, ready to throw a spear at Harding. Meghan noticed the shadows moving, and she moves closer, unsure what it is. The metallic glint of the spear's head caught her eye, and her gaze went wide. "We're under attack!" she yells, as the figure throws the spear. She leaps forward, blocking the shot with her shield. As the spear ricocheted off, a platoon of Qunari leapt out of the trees and bushes, effectively ambushing the group. Cassandra, Meghan, and Albert stood in a loose circle and tried to hold off the attack. A Qunari warrior tried to duck under Cassandra's attack, and she corrected her aim in time to slice one of his horns clean off. He let out an animalistic howl, swinging a massive mallet at her in retaliation. She managed to raise her shield in time to block the blows, and Harding took the opening to shoot an arrow through the Qunari's skull. He dropped to the forest floor, limp.

Albert lunged at a Qunari and bashed him with his shield, stunning the Qunari long enough to sink his sword into the meaty flesh of the Qunari's shoulder, pinning him to the tree. Meghan was struggling to block the attacks of a spear-wielding Qunari, but the spear hooked in her shield and yanked it brutally away from her. She gasped, reaching for it desperately, but the Qunari slashed the blade across the skin of her nose and she stepped back, unable to reach her shield. She felt blood dripping down her face, tasted it hot on her tongue when she opened her mouth to take a breath, and she let out an angry battle cry, charging forward. Her ferocity took the Qunari off guard as she parried his counterattacks, and it was only a few short heartbeats before she whirled her sword and cut the blade off the spear, rendering it useless in his hands. She stabbed her blade up through his neck, killing him, and the battle was over. The three Qunari lay dead around them, bleeding out onto the grass.

Cassandra sheathed her sword and turned to her initiates. "Are you all right?" she asks. This had been Albert's and Meghan's first real fight, and Meghan was hunched over, catching her breath. Albert was leaning against the foot of the tree, checking his sword. "Yes, ma'am, we're all right," Meghan answers, a slight cough rattling in her breath. "Then stand straight. You two are to be Seekers, not part of the common rabble, and a fight with two Qunari shouldn't leave you winded," Cassandra said firmly, a slight smile on her face. "Yes, ma'am," the two answered, standing ramrod straight and snapping out a salute.

Harding sighs, and Cassandra turns her attention to the dwarf. "I guess we know who was attacking the caravans," Cassandra says, shaking her head. "Well, not Qunari, I don't think. Those guys looked like Tal-Vashoth mercenaries," Harding answers, looking over the bodies. "But if they aren't with the Qun, why are they out here?" Cassandra asks, furrowing her brow in confusion. "I don't know, but these guys are just scouts. My guess is that their camp is further in," Harding said, standing and looking deeper into the woods. Cassandra nodded, taking a deep breath. "Let's go, then."


End file.
